"Madness and genius are two sides to the same coin." ~ John Hendy

THREE MONTHS LATER – SUNDAY, MAY 8th, 2016 – ANGEL INVESTIGATIONS, GOTHAM CITY

"I think my husband is cheating on me."

"My son has been spending his nights in the Narrows, and I don't know what he's up to."

"Please you have to help me, Miss Winter."

"I haven't heard from my friend in weeks Miss Winter."

"Miss Winter, you're the only one who can help."

"I know I gave her up for adoption, but I want to find my daughter Miss Winter."

"Miss Winter."

"Miss Winter."

"Miss Winter."

"Miss Winter."

"Eva?"

Evangeline Winter sharply gasps at the abrupt voice shattering her thoughts like fragile porcelain, staring up from her cluttered desk of papers to the source of the intrusion. Nathaniel Winter looms in front of her main desk adorning a concerned expression on his face, dressed in a fitted plaid red shirt and worn jeans. His lips are in a thin, grim line. "You work too hard."

The private investigator can't help the tired sigh that escapes her lips. "Purely because there's a lot to be done, Nate."

The mercenary "hmm's" noncommittally, sternly staring around the spacious yet modest office filled with various papers and filled pin boards.

In the three months since the Maroni Empire fell, Evangeline Winter has been adamantly sought out and desperately hired by such a manifold of Gotham's civilians that she has barely been able to stop, take a breath and organise her own thoughts. Between these civilian clients and Gordon's own cases here and there, Eve has never found herself so successful or busy.

A few weeks after her meeting with the crime bosses, she had already surmounted enough earnings from her work to purchase a new flat on the eighth floor of an apartment building, one that she turned into both an office and her home. Printed on the glass on the front door reads 'Angel Investigations' – a name that both Jim and Rebecca recommended would sell better in the press – a front door that opens directly into her new office.

Her large, vintage, oaken work desk sits in the centre at the far back, the very first thing you see upon opening the door. It's a nice enough work space, completed with a couple lounges, a coffee table and a bookshelf near the entrance for the clients' comfort, the back of the room holding all Eve's pin boards, papers and filing cabinets. The primary desk itself only holds a name plaque, a new desktop PC in the corner, a home phone in the other corner and scattered files, illuminated by the sizeable arched window with a pleasant enough view of the Gotham streets below behind it.

Of course, the right hand side of the room possesses a door that breaks off into her actual living quarters, a simple enough apartment with an open timber floor plan between the generously sized kitchen and living room, her bathroom, bedroom and spare bedroom all separate from the main living area. Eve has always enjoyed windows, a likely reason why she purchased this apartment, which is in no shortage of the glass apertures in the walls.

Rebecca was originally living with her for the first month, before the income from her new work residency at Arkham and her own private sessions on the side allowed her to purchase the flat above Eve and properly open her own practice. Apparently, as much as she enjoyed living with her best friend, Bec couldn't stand Edward's consistent breaking in.

The green clad, enigmatic super criminal had begun making his sporadic visitations a regular occurrence in Eve's life. Why, she does not know for certain, for she hasn't possessed a truly invigorating case since the mob war, but a part of her holds the belief that Edward simply enjoys being in the presence of someone he can not only hold an intelligent conversation with, but also isn't a certifiably insane fugitive of the law.

And yet, in all the three months she has been busy with work, she has not seen hide nor hair of Gotham's infamous vigilante.

Eve can't help the disappointment that still plagues her as a result of this, though she had seen it coming. He's not one to open up, or drop by for a pleasant chat. He would need a purpose to come see her again, and being so busy as of late, Eve hasn't found the time to give the Dark Knight a purpose.

So, for her, the only intrigues in her life at the current time are her work, Edward's intermittent visitations – which have ceased for the past week since being thrown back into Arkham – and her brother, who is still in Gotham doing odd jobs for Falcone.

"I'm not the only one who has been occupied as of late," Eve notes, leaning back in her swivel chair and abandoning her work for the time being, attention whole-heartedly on her brother. "How is Carmine?"

"Good," Nate answers, laconic and flat as always. He doesn't stare at his little sister, but instead distractedly ambles around the office, surveying the papers and photos on the walls of her open cases. "Asks of you sometimes."

Eve arches an eyebrow at that, straightening slightly in interest. "He does?"

The elder sibling stiffly nods. "Mm. Things like how you are doing; if anyone is giving you trouble. I think you left an impression on him."

"As dangerous as he is, Carmine Falcone is one of the last large criminals in this city who not only holds no small amount of power, but his sanity. He's a business man, and therefore prefers such tactics. As do I."

Nate's jaw tightens a tick, Eve observes. A sign of his displeasure. "It's not smart associating with these people. They like you now, but one morning they will wake up and that will change, sometimes for no reason. Stop trying to get more involved."

I do believe that is the longest sentence he has dared utter to me since his arrival, Eve wryly makes a note of, his warning essentially going in one ear and out the other. Checking the time on her watch prior to leisurely rising to a stand, the private investigator languidly twists and stretches her back after remaining stiffly stationary for long, sparing her older brother a comforting, reassuring smile. "It's not as if I am trying to use or do business with them; I'm merely being kind and placing myself in their good graces to limit my enemies in this city – because, frankly, let's face it Nate, after the Maroni ordeal, I have just as many enemies as I have thankful allies. Therefore, having a vigilante, or a couple Gotham Rogues, or even a crime family or two, in between those enemies and I, isn't precisely doing all that much harm."

Shuffling a number of scrawled notes, photos and files together at her own pace, Eve slips them into the time-worn black leather satchel that's spied upon the entropy of the Gotham streets and madness of the GCPD precinct on numerous occasions, lugged around nearly as often as her white coat itself. "Now, I'm sorry to cut this short, but if you don't mind brother, I seem to have lost all sense of time and am almost running late. Jim should be expecting me within the next half hour, and I do not want to turn up any later than that. Poor man already has so much on his plate," Eve apologises, followed by a justified explanation.

Nathaniel doesn't reply at once, instead observing his younger sister smoothly slip her white overcoat on top of her floral white, pink, purple and yellow summer dress, unhappy with his sibling's current association with large, infamous criminals, but even more displeased with her near careless treatment of the threatening danger that follows them like dark, impending storm clouds.

The mercenary is still leery of Edward Nygma, but thus far hasn't otherwise outright threatened the enigmatic villain to leave Eva alone. In spite of his startling lack of an intimidating nature or appearance, Nygma is still one of the Grade A villains of this crime-torn city; many other criminals would rather not be thrown into one of his infamous death puzzles, a fate that is more than likely should anyone harm Eva by this point. Even though he would never dare admit it aloud, Nate believes that Nygma truly holds a soft spot for his baby sister. It's easy to forget all of his treacherous, heinous crimes when the two intellectuals are standing in the kitchen, baking lemon tarts, wearing pink aprons, and debating whether the rapid increase of entropy within Gotham is a by-product of pollution and crime or merely a result of the council's refusal to pay for proper reparations when a criminal will merely destroy the streets again in a month's time.

The mere unwelcome thought of how well acquainted the two intellectuals have become over the past three months is daunting to Nathaniel Winter, to say the least. They have proceeded to get along like a house on fire. Sometimes, Nygma's more chaotic nature rubs off on Eve, resulting in her pulling harmless yet irritable stunts on the officers of the GCPD who treat her crudely, such as gluing something small and unnoticeable on the bottom of a single leg of their desks to make it just that bit off balance, or finding a way to alter the height of their office chairs and jam them, causing it to remain annoyingly low or ridiculously high. Sure, that may not seem like much to most, but for Eve? It's a noticeable shift towards mischief in the eyes of Nathaniel.

Sometimes, however, Eve's more gentle nature also rubs off on Nygma. Little things, such as the occasional display of manners – please, thank you, opening the door for her first – or preparing tea and lunch for her during a strenuous case. Hell, Nate even saw him do a grocery shop for her once, completely unprompted, as well as the dishes another couple times. The Prince of Puzzles does, in fact, puzzle Nate when he catches him during these simple yet helpful acts of kindness. Of course, his arrogance and slanter against everyone else that isn't Eve hasn't ceased, though oddly enough, his bickering and picking on Rebecca has become more playfully insulting than outright threatening, which for someone with a mouth like Bec's, is no small feat for the green clad villain.

For now, the mercenary has his eye on the super criminal – or will, once he inevitably escapes from Arkham again – but his concerns over Nygma in particular have lessened considerably, in comparison to the Dark Knight and Two Face.

Thinking about Caped Crusader immediately puts Nathaniel in a bitter mood. Having operated in Gotham years before, near the beginning of Batman's vigilante career, Nate had the misfortune to go toe-to-toe with the Dark Knight after being hired by Roman Sionis – who was later discovered to be the Joker in disguise – to assassinate him for one million dollars. Whilst his own morals are in a questionably grey area, after going up against the vigilante once and realising the good he truly is doing for this city, Nate proceeded to back off. Eight other assassins were hired, all of which made the papers the next day – but the Black Dog didn't. The mercenary was smart, avoided arrest by both the GCPD and Batman, and after reluctantly aiding the Dark Knight a couple times over the night – a reluctance felt by both parties – the Caped Crusader was merciful enough to leave Nate's name out of his recount to Gordon later. To this day neither of them particularly like one another, but it isn't as if either of them are actively seeking out each other at the same time.

And yet, he would choose both Edward Nygma and Batman over Harvey "Two Face" Dent any day.

The ex-DA is volatile, violent, unpredictable and unsettlingly sharp. Something that both halves of the man have in common is that razor sharp wit – the way in which they find loop holes in every deal, as well as conducting a number of their illicit activities on the very edge of the law, somehow still in the legal zone in spite of how evidently morally corrupt they are. There are, of course, their completely illegal stunts – robbing banks and casinos, shooting people, torturing leads, assaulting cops – but their time as Gotham's sharpest lawyer help them avoid outright prosecution for other things they're knowingly guilty of by conducting them within certain areas of the law. Suggesting to store and business owners that they need their protection for a certain price. Running an actual certified business – Hell's Gate Legal and Waste Disposal Services – filled with corrupt lawyers who represent the crooks of the town, owned under the name of a man that works for them without any priors. Purchasing safe houses and apartments with legal, clean money that tripled in value in off shore accounts from their time as a lawyer.

Edward Nygma is smart, but Two Face is clever.

The elder brother has heard of the violence that Two Face is capable of as well. How he'll beat a man to death without batting an eye. Stringing out the unspeakable torture of someone who knows something Harv wants to know for weeks, even months. Shooting one of his men in the face if he's in a particularly irritable mood. Just because Harvey can be somewhat reasonable, doesn't mean that Two Face is above doing anything disgustingly corrupt or mercilessly wicked. Two Face himself isn't insane to the point that this violent nature in him could potentially be cured through a skilled therapist in Arkham; that he could be taught and understand that what he's doing is harmful and wrong. Two Face knows society's standards of what's right and wrong.

He just doesn't give a fuck.

Hm, Rebecca isn't just rubbing off on Eve, Nate realises, the psychiatrist's analysing nature shining through him as well. The ability to at least partially understand the perplexing, twisted nature of Gotham's most infamous, colourful rogues is a tool to both Nathaniel Winter and his sister. It aids him in his own work around the city, and her in her encounters with the Gotham's Rogues Gallery.

Bidding farewell to his baby sister, who is determinedly on her own way out the door, Nathaniel continues to speculatively mull over the various psychological aspects and personality characteristics of the two criminals and vigilante, as well as, much to his little sibling's chagrin, the ways in which he could negatively turn them around on the three men, should they ever so much as harm a hair on Evangeline Winter's head.

***

Another affair. Why on God's great earth would someone cheat on their partner? Is it really so hard to file a divorce? Eve is aware of all the variables that could potentially inhibit a divorce, such as not wanting to break up a household – kids and pets alike – and other such factors, but stringing along a wife or husband – especially those that have been married for over thirty years – is quite frankly barbaric in the opinion of the private investigator. That wronged partner could have spent those thirty years getting over him, moving on and marrying someone who would treat them right, and yet instead, this nitwit with an appalling haircut would rather leave his partner with the belief that he love her whilst he took Helen from the hair salon on additional sexual endeavours against a brick wall behind a dumpster on 3rd.

The North Carolinian pauses in her steps, pressing her lips together speculatively. Mm, right, I must refrain from growing as attached to my clients' cases as I currently am, otherwise I may end up informing Nate the addresses of cheating husbands and wives.

Strolling down the lonesome, desolate, howling streets of Gotham, a smattering of warm colours dusting the very tops of the skyscrapers as the tired sun goes to sleep on the horizon; Evangeline Winter never stops to consider that, perhaps, with the night crawling up on her, she possibly should have caught a taxi back to her apartment. At night, the streets of this crime hungry city grow foul and treacherous; even a righteous man would turn to sin the moment the last drop of sunlight dries up on the pavement. Priests would stare at a woman with desirable thoughts. Business men would allow greed to consume them and commit theft for extra income on the side. Virgin Stacy would dress scantily and stand around on a street corner downtown. And those that don't cave into sin and corruption? They become the very victims of those who do.

The cold bite in the air has long since passed, Gotham well past winter and nearing the end of spring. Summers in this municipal are overbearingly hot, as if a stifling, humid blanket is draped over the entire city, smothering its inhabitants. Eve's modest yet not completely conservative dress is breezy enough, her coat; however, is beginning to wear down on her. Flapping the lapels of the white overcoat to allow some semblance of a breeze through, the raven haired woman mumbles incoherently under her breath about the prospect of another trip to the hair salon, now that her thick hair is past her shoulders and progressively becoming a burden in this suffocating heat.

Upon passing an eerie, dark alley that has sucked all the light within in like a starved black hole, the faint sounds of struggling bounce off the brick walls and into Eve's ears, gripping her ankles and prompting her to stop outside the mouth of the alley. Staring into the abyss, the private investigator narrows her hazel gaze sharply, attempting to discern what could be transpiring inside through auditory deduction alone.

It's quick, blink and you'd miss it. The initial jarring shock of roughly being seized by burly, calloused fingers staggers Eve for a few moments, and by the time her mind has snapped to attention, she's already been halfway dragged into the alleyway.

At first, she struggles, obviously. And yet she's quickly reminded of the severity of the situation when a harsh, merciless slap splits the left corner of her lip. Immediately, she's met with the metallic, bitter taste of blood.

Two men face her, both adorned in suits. Bulky where the holster would be. Military and bodyguard posturing. Expressions completely unfazed and accustomed to this kind of situation. Cleanly shaven. Expensive and immaculate taste in attire. Shoes shined. They keep up appearances, and are experienced. This isn't a random kidnapping. This was planned. Too pricy attire for any common criminals, or Gotham Rogue muscle. Mafia, certainly, but I came to an agreement with the four main crime bosses; the only denominator unaccounted for is –

Click.

Eve pauses in her struggling, not even daring to breathe when the safety of the handgun is pulled back, the eye of the barrel staring down at her a couple feet away as dark and foreboding at the mouth of alleyway was just moments ago. The man with the gun, a blonde with a penchant for hair gel, allows the ghost of a satisfied smirk to curl at the corners of his lips, the brunette besides him mirroring his accomplice's grin. Eve can't see the man holding her arms behind her back in an iron bear grip, but imagine his expression is somewhat similar to his partners.

"Roman Sionis sends 'is regards, wishes he could'a been 'ere in person," the gangster holding the firearm smugly yet professionally informs, the knuckle of the finger hovering over the trigger dauntingly curling in. Evangeline Winter wasn't even permitted the opportunity to form and plan and act in retaliation.

BANG.

Blood splatters like a Jackson Pollock painting, the body of the hoodlum with the gun collapsing into a heap on the floor milliseconds after the small piece of lead ploughs through his head and into the abyss behind him. Thug two instinctually springs into action – hand, blazer, holster, gun. Thug three yanks her around and employs her as his personal shield from the unknown gunman; or, as Eve soon finds out when she's spun in the opposite direction, gunmen.

Two men, also in suits, stand unwaveringly ready to put another two bullets in between the eyes of the last two of Eve's assailants, but do, in fact, waver when one of the thugs proceeds to use her as his shield.

Fast, so fast. Eve's mind can barely keep up and register the past twenty seconds, let alone what's transpiring before her now. She allows autopilot to kick in. Immediately, she pushes her mad, scrambling thoughts to the backseat, throws her initial state of shock out the window, and stands back as basic instinct takes the wheel.

Nose. Toes. Shin. Slamming her head back so abruptly startles the assailant gripping her mercilessly, the resounding crack of an at least fractured nose snapping in her ears. Heel of her ankle boot ploughs down on the aristocratic, freshly cleaned shoes, smashing his toes ardently. Heel lifts up, striking back into the centre of the sensitive shin, the sharp edge of the boot sure to leave a nasty bruise. By this point, he's released her enough for Eve to shake herself loose and scamper forward.

Despite his floundering at Eve's first successful attempt of fighting back, the private investigator barely makes it five feet before a rough, harsh, sharp fistful of her ebony hair is yanked back, drawing a startled yelp from her rosy lips. Reaching back, her petite hands lock around the burly fist of the Black Mask thug, maintaining her grip whilst she fluidly ducks back and under his arm, curling it around until she's standing behind him with his arm bent back, snapping her leg out to assertively kick him in his keister, prompting him to stumble away from her.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

The crack of gunfire was muted to her ears before, but now that Eve is permitted a moment to take in the scene around her, it's as if the volume of the altercation has been switched back on, the ringing sound of bullets being exchanged sending a jarring jolt back through the private investigator's system.

And then, it stops.

The two new faces, of which the North Carolinian is unsure whether or not are entirely in her favour, are the only ones left standing besides Eve herself. Facial features as devoid of emotions as a blank canvas, one snaps his green gaze to her, eyeing her up and down analytically, pausing on her split lip. He's surveying me for any physical trauma or injury.

"Are you injured Miss Winter?" Formal. Strict. Professional. Critical. Clearly from organised crime as well, perhaps Carmine?

"Yes, thank you," she graciously answers, nodding her head generously, in spite of her expression remaining sharply inquisitive. "May I ask... who sent you?"

For the first time that entire encounter, as short as it has proven to be, the men demonstrate a drop of the human spectrum of emotion. Both of them knowingly glance at one another, the one who previously inquired of her wellbeing even exhibiting a ghost of a smug smirk. "You're not curious why Black Mask is after you?"

"Oh I am, but I'll figure that out soon enough," she dusts off, still maintaining her wariness and distance from the two. "I'd rather know who in particular thinks me to be an important enough asset to assign two men to tail and watch over me." The moment the words fall from her lips, does Eve decidedly put two and two together.

Two men. Two.

The green eyed man's ghost of a grin grows into an actual smirk, lazily pocketing his gun back in his holster. "I think you just about figured that one out yourself miss."

"Two Face owes me nothing, and he must know I'd never do actual business with a criminal," Eve rebukes, utilising the basic human instinct of how people never fail to correct someone in the wrong to draw more information out of the bodyguard. "He mustn't truly be so invested in me as to assign two men to protect me."

"You left an impression on him miss," the other one with the sharp jaw line and evident Latin American heritage finally speaks up, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but there. "Plus, he considers you his PI, 'cause of how you two made that deal. So as you can imagine, he won't be happy that we that bastard land a hit on you."

"I'm not anyone's PI, that's the entire point of being a private investigator."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't tell that to the boss," the first one recommends, thoroughly amused by how ruffled the less than intimidating woman is beginning to be. "He doesn't like being told no. As far as you, and he, and all of his men are concerned... you belong to Two Face."

Standing aside, as if to allow Eve to pass through them and amble back towards the street, both men gesture forward whilst falling back into their blank, professional personas. Green eyes nods sharply at her. "So, unless you have anything else to say miss, my associate and I would highly recommend we walk you the rest of the way home. It's getting a little dark to be walking all by one's self, isn't it?"

The walk back isn't as eventful as the first half, and despite Eve's further prodding, the private investigator reaped nothing more useful out of the two men, bar their names; Kevin for green eyes, Dante for jaw line.

Dropping her off at her apartment complex door, Kevin and Dante bid her a goodnight and retreat to a car parked across and a few meters down the road, the raven haired woman berating herself for not even noticing such a simple thing. Somewhere in the recesses of her subconscious, she's known that car has been there for as long as she's been in this building, but merely wrote it off as belonging to someone in the complex. I'm so tired I'm beginning to lose my edge.

She makes the trip up to her flat in an pensive, thoughtful silence, still trying to not address the death scare from tonight screaming for attention in the back of her mind. Eve's aware that bottling things up isn't exactly healthy, but she'll wait to release it all next time Bec has a spare moment.

The private investigator is, however, very much finding herself filled with this renewed, enlivening sense of adventure, for as daunting and terrifying it is to know Black Mask is currently gunning for her, Eve is beginning to smell the scent of a new, invigorating case on the horizon. As arrogant as this may sound, I don't care. I made my attempt at niceties when I made my deal with the mafia heads, it is Mr Sionis' own fault for disregarding any chance at civility between us, and now he has gone ahead and made an attempt on my life - a near successful attempt, if it wasn't for Two Face assigning those men on me. I won't stand for it. I won't.

Arriving at her door, Eve doesn't even bat an eye when she spies it ajar. Edward has finally escaped Arkham I see. It's the startling, distressing colour of crimson liquid that's smudged all over the door handle like a five year old that had gotten into the red paint, that sends instant alarm bells ringing in her head.

Slowly pushing her front door open, after wiping down the handle with a spare tissue in her pocket, Eve cautiously closes the timber door with the glass panelling behind her, the click of it locking hardly even audible. As silent as a hobbit, the North Carolinian creeps through her office, surveying it for any collapsed bodies in a pool of blood, she very quickly catches sight of the Hansel and Gretel like trail of blood splatterings spread out across her floor, leading towards the open door that breaks off into her living room.

Gently pressing against the timber of the door that opens to her residential area, Evangeline Winter, not for the first time, finds herself overly startled – and momentarily speechless – at the scene laid out before her. For, not only is Edward Nygma strewn across her lounge, alarmingly orange Arkham jumpsuit tarnished with dark, scarlet stains, but so is Jonathan Crane, the Master of Fear, the Scarecrow himself.

Edward instantly brightens upon seeing her in the doorway, whilst Dr Crane seems to do the entire opposite, pained, sour expression dropping even more.

"Ah, Eve my dear, how good of you to finally join u – why, are you bleeding?" The enigmatic villain scrutinises her face from his weak, injured place on the couch.

"Black Mask. I'll explain everything whilst I patch the two of you up," she flippantly waves off his concerns over her, retreating into the kitchen for the first aid kit and other essentials. "First, however, I do believe you have some explaining to do."

A/N: First chapter of Part Two! My God you guys this is probably gonna be my favourite part, because this is still my own storyline for a while, before going into Arkham Asylum, and a big part of this part is gonna be the romance and the villains.

There will be whole chapters dedicated to a single villain, where Eve is gonna help them out on their own case. I'm not gonna say which villains, but I will warn you, there are a fair few of them.

Btw, do any of you have any one shot requests for dear Eve here? I've recently put up a one shot book for my OCs where anyone can request any kind of oneshot between my OCs and other DC/Marvel characters. So please, if you have any requests, lemme know!

I though the chapter title was awfully clever; after all, Eve is represented by white, Sionis and Nate are represented by black, Two Face is represented by both, and the whole Part Two of Crime Having Two Faces and the two sides to the same coin quote all play on the polar opposites of black and white/yin and yang as well.

I like thinking these things through.

Also, I changed my casting for Two Face. I needed someone who is a bit bigger, and a bit more stern looking, and could probably play the part of mafia quite well, and after watching Baby Driver, I just fell in love with this dude. The one and only, Jon Hamm.

God he's such a Two Face, I don't know how I didn't see it before. To be fair though, he'd probably make a good Bruce Wayne too.

Thanks for reading, and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L